


a stoned body, gliding to the ground

by cesellia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: A Poor Excuse To Hurt Ciel, Blood and Injury, Illnesses, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesellia/pseuds/cesellia
Summary: a bird finds protection and comfort in the snake.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	a stoned body, gliding to the ground

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for kuroshitsuji as well as the longest fic i have ever written so congrats to me. this is entirely self indulgent as i just want to see ciel in pain.
> 
> title taken from soap&skin's athom

On the icy bridge overlooking the River Thames, a sharply pointed wrought iron plunged into Ciel's abdomen by the earl's newly acquainted business rival. The force of the significantly larger man proved to be too much for him to handle as he was sent falling backwards into the river.

There was no time for even a cry of pain when he crashed into the water. Blood floated to the surface as the river bed gripped on to his ankles and pulled him further down until not even a single light shone through to him.

That darkness, however, did not last long. Ciel felt the strong hands of his demon grab the sides of his waist, and his limp body was carried up to the surface where it then occurred to him how _cold_ he was.

“Oh my,” a grin formed on Sebastian’s face as he spoke when they reached the banks of the river, “It appears to me that you have the epidemic of middle-aged men trying to kill you following around you. Shall I silence him now?”

“N...No...,” Ciel sputtered out, a mixture of water and blood dripping from his lips, “Br...Bring me...to the manor. ...Deal with him later.”

Consciousness began to slip away from the boy as pitiful coughs filled with blood forced themselves out from his lungs. Sebastian took this incentive to heat his coat to a humanly desired temperature and wrap it around Ciel’s frail, shivering body. A certain satisfaction bloomed in him at seeing the young master being comforted by the warmth as he pulled him into his arms and began the journey back to the manor.

“Are–Are you sure he’s okay?” Mey-Rin asked frantically as she and the other servants trailed behind, “I got stabbed when I was roughly his age, and–and it didn’t heal for months. Shouldn’t–Shouldn’t we take him to a doctor?”

“You were an orphan child who did not have a home, much less the money for medicine,” Sebastian said, turning to face the servants when reaching the earl’s door, “Bardroy, prepare a tomato soup for when the young master awakens. As for the rest of you, return to your posts.” With a faint grumble, the servants obliged to his orders.

Sebastian laid Ciel on his bed and undressed him to the extent where he could begin stitching the gaping wound. Examining the rest of his body and seeing the scars that littered it, it was indeed amusing how often the boy just barely escaped death or injures that would have him crippled for a lifetime if he were anyone else.

“Se...Sebastian...,” Ciel stirred as his consciousness fluttered back in, “How...—Is the wound bad?”

“It is nothing fatal, my lord. You should be healed in roughly a week’s time,” Sebastian poured alcohol over the wound, “However, I could heal you right here and now if you ask me to.”

“ _No_ ,” Ciel responded through gritted teeth, “I have already cheated at life once. I will not do it again.”

“Hmm,” Sebastian pulled the dark duvet to Ciel’s shoulders, “But are you not cheating at life right now by using me as your trump card against all that fights against you?”

Ciel’s eyebrows narrowed as he spoke, “Hold your tongue, demon.” Biting the inside of his cheek to hold back sounds of pain, he sat up and continued, “Inform my teachers I will be unable to attend lessons this week. Lie to Lizzie if she asks if something is wrong.”

Even with paling skin and eyes that showed the immense pain he was in, Ciel continued to hold up his composure and mask of professionality. It was a trait Sebastian deeply appreciated—it highlighted the boy’s strength to persevere while also bringing to light the stupidity he had for not listening to the demands of his body.

(But that was all humans, wasn't it? Hiding their pain behind heavy masks until they collapsed? Or until the blood that has been spilt becomes too great and Death comes to harvest their souls’? The downfall of humanity begins with their inability to let others in and help.)

A smile formed on the demon’s face at the thought of witnessing such a humorous ending to humanity. He bowed his head and spoke, “Yes, my lord.”

Morning came, and Ciel was already awake when Sebastian entered to bring him his morning tea.

His skin was flushed, and the dark circles underneath his eyes told him that the young master hadn’t been asleep since he bid him adieu the previous night. Ciel closed the book that rested in his lap and turned towards Sebastian, “What did you bring me today?”

“Hibiscus,” Sebastian responded, moving the tray to his bedside for his master to have easy access, “It contains antioxidants that will help with your fever. It also serves as a natural sleeping aid.”

“Tch,” Ciel grabbed the teacup, “I didn’t sleep last night because I did not want to. I am not very comfortable with the idea of being immobile after getting stabbed by a person who is still trying to kill me.”

“My lord,” a small chuckle escaped from Sebastian’s lips, “Is that fear I sense? As long as your soul is bound to me, I will never let anything kill you.” When Ciel did not respond, he continued, “I will bring you breakfast—”

“No,” Ciel interrupted, picking his book back up, “I’m not hungry. I will call for you when I want to eat.”

With his young master turning his attention away from him, it took all of Sebastian’s might to not strike him in the back of the head for his obstinance and to instead respond, “I detest. Skipping meals in this state will halt your healing and ruin your appetite.”

“That does not matter,” a grin pulled on the side of Ciel’s face at the sight of his butler’s vexation, “You said so yourself; you won’t let me die.”

The sun fell over the horizon, and the fever that had laid dormant during the day now wrapped their hands around Ciel’s throat and crushed his trachea—holding him hostage in a nightmare. A nightmare of masked men and travelling hands that touched him no matter how loud he screamed for them to stop.

Fingers laced around his blouse and stripped him naked; voices echoing and laughing at his pitifulness. His body was mouldering in a fireplace and cold hands were caressing his face _and he couldn't take it anymore_. He slapped the hand away, eyes shooting open to realise breathlessly that it was only his butler.

“My apologies,” Sebastian began, taking a step back from his master, “I did not intend on frightening you. I came to merely inform you that your bath is ready.”

Ciel touched his cheek. That's right; he’s no longer in the cage. He’s home again. They can no longer touch him. ( _But why can I still feel them?_ )

He let his bare legs dangle off the side of the bed. “I’ll bathe myself tonight,” he spoke, “Do not bother me.”

An artificial frown conveying concern spread across the demon’s face as he bowed his head and spoke, “Understood. I will come by later to serve you dinner.”

Sebastian left, and Ciel was alone again. This time, there were no whispers or hands gripping on to his waist until bruises formed. He was utterly and peacefully alone.

Ciel struggled to the bathtub. His stab wound was slow healing and blood stained on to the nightshirt he struggled to strip out of. The water was too warm and blood was sticking to the tub, but Ciel’s heart was faltering and vision dancing too incoherently for it to even registered in his mind how much agony his body was in.

He glided the bar of soap against his body, letting it feel every scar that the Earl had gained over the course of those three years. From the innocent accidents to the attempts made on his life, every scar served as the vestiges of why he continues to live—why he must uncover the truth about his family’s killer.

One scar stood out from all the rest; the scar that did not exist—the fatal blow to the heart that was meant for him. The ending of his life would have meant the survival of his brother; the boy who did not need the guidance of a starving demon to succeed in life. The boy who would have brought the Phantomhive name to eternal glory without killing himself in the process.

But this did not serve as a source of despair for the boy. Ciel Phantomhive lived through him now. And, one day, their souls will be reunited in the depths of Hell.

The soap slipped from his hands and fell to the bottom of the water, but now no energy was left for Ciel to pick it up. Now, his eyes stared fixated on the lamps above him, the memory of the cage coming back into the light.

They were only let out of the cage once a week to bathe. Other children who did not have siblings to rely on were washed and touched by the adults there, but they had each other and—as painful and humiliating as it was—they were able to clean each other while masked men watched in amusement.

Up until the very end, his brother was always kind; sacrificing himself so that their captors could only see his own body and not the Earl’s; cleaning and keeping care of the wounds that had become infected; helping and soothing him when the asthma attacks came.

With closed eyes, Ciel could see his brother in the bathtub with him—gently washing the dried blood away from the wound, stopping and asking _are you okay?_ every time he flinched when the rag made contact with his skin. _I’m fine_ Ciel would say, and it would be a lie, but seeing his brother sad with guilt was more painful than any torture he had gone through.

Ciel opened his eyes, and he was alone. The lights flickered and the bathwater grew cold. It was time for him to get out, but his legs and arms were unresponsive to his commands. The scent of his brother’s favourite flower beckoned him to return, to escape from the reality that had stripped him of everything he once had.

_Only for a moment_ , he thought to himself, and the life around him disappeared.

When humans become plagued with sickness, all logic that they may or may not have had is thrown out of the window and they devolve back to their single-minded, primitive state. Ciel, above all others, was the most amusing of these humans.

The boy was an injured fox; a once strong, deceptive creature now cowering in fear and hoping to be spared by the larger creature. He did not express or show these fears in front of him, but he didn't need to; the demon could sense his childish, _tasteful_ fear from a mile away.

Fear was the taste Sebastian was most excited for. Anguish and blood-curdling screams coming from his young master will be the main dish when the contract is finally fulfilled.

Sebastian knocked on the Earl’s chamber door to alert him of his presence before entering—placing the evening meal on his study’s table before coming to the realisation that Ciel—after two hours—had still yet to come out of the bathroom.

“My lord,” Sebastian rapped his knuckles against the door, “Do you need my assistance?”

Receiving no response, he opened the door and let out an exasperated sigh at the sight of the scene in front of him; the floor was a blood-stained mess and unconscious in the bathtub was Ciel, his forehead dripping in what he assumed to be sweat from his fever-stricken state. It was laughable, honestly. It was no surprise to Sebastian that a boy who couldn't properly tie his shoes would end up making a mess and passing out in a bathtub when he received no help (not to mention the soap that still lingered in his hair).

In one swift action, the floors were clean and Ciel was in his arms—Sebastian patting him dry with a towel, amazed at how for someone who’s life is constantly being threatened could be such a heavy sleeper. He brought the boy to his bed, checking his pulse and breathing only to find it faint and shallow. The illness was only going to get worse from there, and he pondered on whether he should wake Ciel up to eat or let him rest, knowing full well that the master always refused the meals he prepared when he falls sick.

“Br-Brother...don't...don't go,” Ciel muttered in his sleep, his facial features scrunching up as a nightmare held on to him tight, “Please....Don’t leave...me...”

“My young master,” Sebastian leaned over, running his gloved fingers down his flushed face as he placed a kiss of reassurance on his forehead, “Do not fret. It is only a dream.”

Whether it was the winter weather or his own frailing body, Ciel was forced awake by icy temperatures that went to his bone, paralysing him as his body trembled and his lungs closed up. Panic rushed into him as he could no longer breathe, and he began calling out for his butler’s help.

Those ten, twenty seconds it took for Sebastian to arrive felt like hours. Memories of his first asthma attack taking over; he was playing with his brother in the garden—the sun was out and the birds were chirping—when he suddenly collapsed to the ground. His brother held him in his arms, crying because he thought the attack meant he was dying. Tears from his family were shed that night, terrified of the possibility of him dying at a young age. But with them gone, no more tears would be shed. His servants thought him invincible and Sebastian never genuinely cared for his health outside of what the contract stated.

At his very core, Ciel knew that he was to struggle alone.

“My lord, please sit up,” Sebastian spoke and only then did Ciel realise he had been there, trying to get through to him, “Unclench your fists, you will end up tearing open your skin.”

“No—No! I...I can't—He...!” The world that surrounded him was moving slow, and his mind was moving too fast. The edges of his vision were becoming blurred and dark as he tried to bring in air that did not want to come in.

“My lord,” Sebastian cupped his cheek and forced their eyes to meet, “Focus only on me,” his hand trailed down to Ciel’s fist and pried it opened, “And repeat what I do.”

After a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal, but his body still trembled and no words appeared to formulate properly when he spoke, so he opted to remain silent.

“I lit the fireplaces and laid out some blankets if you need them,” Sebastian said, “Is there anything else you require?”

Ciel examined him; then he remembered what happened last night—passing out in the bathtub and waking up the next morning fully clothed. And while it wasn't as if Sebastian had never seen his nude body countless times before, something—whether it be the fever or the nightmares—clicked in his head; _I can't let him touch me._

( _Don’t let them touch you_ his brother spoke in the back of his mind, reminding him of all the simplest ways to get them to let go: biting, kicking, screaming.)

Like a child, Ciel sunk into the bed and refused to meet his butler’s eye as he responded in a hoarse voice, “The man—...I want you to make sure...to make sure he will not come back,” he twirled his finger around the button of his nightshirt, “And have Tanaka bring me my afternoon meal today. Do not come unless I call for you.”

“Oh my,” Sebastian chuckled amidst his faltering concerned voice, “Did I happen to insult you—”

“That’s an order,” Ciel snapped—stressing his throat and breaking out into a small coughing fit—, “W-Watch your tongue, demon. Or I will have you cut it out yourself.”

A grin of satisfaction pulled on his lips, and Sebastian spoke, “Yes, my lord.”

His lunch went uneaten—or better yet, it ended up being flushed down the toilet along with whatever small treats that refused to stay down. It was a long, drawn-out battle between the fragility of his lungs and the abdomen that was struggling to heal itself. Every breath led to more pain and there was no escape from it.

When he was younger, his mother—a terrible nurse but an amazing entertainer—would lay with him in bed when he was sick, holding his hand while she told him stories of fairytales and fantastical trips she had across Europe. His pain disappeared when she spoke, and now that she was gone, there was no way for him to numb that pain. There was not an inch of that demon that cared on an emotional level about his health, the servants seeing him in such a pitiful state would be an embarrassment, and Lizzie would become a blubbering, crying mess if she saw him.

Sitting in the chair closest to the fireplace and a blanket draped over his small, boney frame, Ciel tried to come up with his own distractions—an artificial sense of love and affection; a love and affection that only a few dared to want to give him in the worst possible way.

This did not work, of course. Every imagination, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the cage; his brother holding him close and whispering to him that _it’s alright_ and _someone will come to save us_. And as comforting as those words were in the moment, there was always a person there ready to remind them of their grim, short lives.

They took his brother first (they always did), screaming and crying, Ciel watched in horror as they stripped him of his clothes and fucked his body. Ciel was too young to understand what they were doing, but he could see that his brother was in pain and—without any hesitation—he began to yell out, begging for them to take him instead. And they did.

Two adults would hold on to his wrists and ankles to secure him in a certain position, and the third would, with no preamble, force their cock into his body. Repeatedly, until white substances mixed with blood was coming out of his hole. And after that, his brother never let go of his hand, promising him that he would protect them both from ever getting touched by those men again. In a way, he was right. His death and the summoning of a demon assured that they would never lay their hands on his body again.

( _But was that what he truly wanted?_ )

A knock came on to his door, a rhythmic one that Ciel was all too aware of who it belonged to. “I believe I told you not to come unless I called for you.” he said when Sebastian entered, holding in his hand a plate of baked salmon that had a scent that was nauseating in his current state.

“Indeed you did, but,” Sebastian sat the plate on the table near to Ciel, “Tanaka informed me that he heard you vomiting earlier, and it is a butler’s job first and foremost to assure that his master is kept healthy,” he spread out the silverware, “Apologies for the meal’s appearance. I cut it up into small pieces for easy consumption,” Ciel picked up the fork—his hands trembling and struggled to stab it into the meat—and Sebastian chuckled as he continued on, “Would you like me to feed you? It will be difficult for you to finish that in your current state—”

Ciel’s hand swung at Sebastian’s face. Of course, it had no effect on the demon, but to humour his master, he rubbed his unscathed cheek as if he had been hit with a hard object. “Stay out,” Ciel grumbled under his breath, “Under no circumstances should you come in here unless I order you to. Understand?”

“Understood, my lord.”

There was no sunrise that following day, or perhaps there was. His eyes were glued shut; his lungs pricked with rose thorns. And the world around him did not show itself to him.

Heat enveloped his body like landing in the desert while wearing winter clothing. He kicked and kicked the duvet, but it did not move; his energy was all but dissipated. But it wasn't long before the temperature completely shifted and his body was then under a thick layer of ice. It continued shifting between the two extremes; his head was aching in dehydration and he was begging for it to stop ( _will it ever stop, Ciel?_ ).

Ciel clenched his fists, tight enough that blood trickled down from his fingernails. There was a hand on his wrist and in desperation to make it all go away, he peeled his eyes opened and pushed the intruder back without thinking.

After the blurriness settled and his adrenaline calmed, he realised it had only been Sebastian, holding a wet cloth and medicine. “Seb...Sebastian,” Ciel breathed, trying to sit up but was forced back down by the demon, “What...What’s happening?”

“You are having hot and cold flashes, my lord,” Sebastian explained, dabbing the cloth against his clammy forehead, “They are usually nonfatal, but with your asthma that may not be the case.”

A pill was forced into Ciel’s mouth, cold water helping it go down his throat. “ _Bastard_ ,” he muttered when his breathing calmed, “I did not call for you.”

“But young master, on the contrary,” the demon clicked his tongue and let himself sit on the edge of the bed. “Whenever you are having a nightmare, I am the name you most often cry out for. Whether you realise it or not, you _wanted_ me here. And based on your current state, _needed_ as well.”

“Don’t get cocky, demon,” Ciel spat, trying to save face despite its redness and obvious embarrassment, “I may have called for you subconsciously, but do not begin thinking that I see you as anything more than a vexing servant.”

“Then do you wish for me to leave now that you have returned to your normal state?” Sebastian asked, _knowing_ that it would lead to more embarrassment on Ciel’s part because _of course_ he needed him. The facade he had masterfully constructed was beginning to cripple and break away piece by piece. And he was scared—incredibly and childishly scared.

There was no family that knew of his sickly self, no friends that saw him for who he truly was—an injured bird that had to rely on a species higher on the food chain to protect and nurse him back to health. Letting even an all-knowing demon see his vulnerability felt like a self-guided path to the guillotine.

“No,” Ciel said, swallowing back the nervousness that made his voice hitch, “Stay here with me today. I may have another attack later, and I do not want to wait for you to come help me.”

The demon ran his fingers through Ciel’s hair, untangling every knot that had accumulated over the past few days of bed rest. It was a comforting gesture; his eyes were dark with concern, almost as if there was a part of him that cared for the boy outside of savouring his soul. It was a foolish thought, and Ciel had made sure to never think of the demon as a creature that _cared_ and _loved_. But his mind was a battlefield of self-hatred and anxiety, and the thought of his killer caring, even for a moment, brought him to ease.

“Of course,” Sebastian whispered, quiet as the Earl’s eyes grew heavy, “Would you like me to read you something until you fall asleep?”

“ _The Death of Ivan Ilych_ ,” Ciel responded, his eyes now closed and leaning into his butler’s touch, “It’s the most fitting story for me, is it not?”

Sebastian’s eyes bore into Ciel’s soul, full of indescribable emotions, “Indeed it is.”

Ciel woke up to a disoriented world. Birds were singing outside; the sky was orange with the sun’s setting, but he could not tell if it was day or night; Sebastian was standing by the window, overlooking the courtyard—in deep thought, Ciel presumed. But what would a demon like him be thinking, he pondered. His guesses ranged anywhere from blood-soaked torture chambers to recipes for strawberry cakes to eating his soul.

Thinking of the latter did not frighten him. Death had always been close behind him, taking the lives of those around him to prepare him for the day that he would be reunited with them. To him, death was only a mere afterthought, a thought that would never concern or frighten him even when his killer finally gives him the fatal shot to the head.

(But, ironically enough, isn't that what made him so similar to Ivan? Dying did not alarm him, but he wasn't about to die. So what about when his time finally comes? What will happen to that courage and composure when that clock chimed midnight for the final time? What will he feel then?)

“You’re awake,” Sebastian stated, pulling him out of his mind, “You have eaten very little since the attack; I urged you to at least try eating some bread tonight.”

Ciel hummed in response. He took Sebastian’s gloved hand and slowly made his way out of bed; his vision darkening and legs faltering at first contact with the floor until Sebastian placed his hands on both of his shoulders to stabilise him, asking in a calm voice if he was all right.

“’Fine,” Ciel grumbled, leaning against Sebastian’s chest when his head felt heavier than the rest of his body, “Just...lightheaded...a little.”

Making it into the study, Ciel found on the centre table a plate of bread and biscuits and a cup of ginger tea that still had steam coming from it. He didn't bother asking Sebastian when he had made it, as he was already sitting down and struggling to hold the food steadily in his hands.

“My lord, if you would,” Sebastian grabbed ahold of the Earl’s hand and sat it down in his lap—taking a piece of bread himself and holding it out for him, “It will be quicker and more effective this way.”

No protests came from Ciel. His mind was a blurring haze and even if he had wanted to, no words were able to pass through his lips. Only him, the candlelight, and the demon’s glowing red eyes existed in that moment.

“Sebastian...,” he soon whispered between bites, long and slow as to not become overwhelmed, “That medicine...this morning...what was it?”

“Still intuitive, I see,” Sebastian smiled and wiped away the crumbs that had landed on his bottom lip, “It was a pill that is meant to ease hot and cold flashes. The side effects, however, mess with the user’s cognition. You should return to normal by tomorrow, young master.”

Ciel grabbed Sebastian’s wrist to stop him from getting another piece to signal he was finished eating and he spoke, “Start...Start running water for my bath.”

Water was poured over his back—hot water that boiled and peeled away at his skin. But Ciel did not say anything, exhaustion was a dark overcast of storm clouds in his mind. All he wished to do was let matters be taken out of his hands and have someone else handle them. And Sebastian was happy to oblige.

The demon’s bare hand ran down the young master’s nude back, his nails digging in just deep enough for a red mark to linger. With all the misery and trauma he had gone through, it would be a surprise to outsiders to see how pretty and fragile his skin remained. Even through all the scars that littered across his body, Ciel had skin that was comparable to that of an angel’s.

(He was sure, too, that if he were to bite and rip away at the master’s skin, he would find that it tasted more divine, more holy, than any angel he had ever had the opportunity to consume.)

“Is the water too hot, my lord?” he asked, knowing that he would only receive a disjointed ‘no’ in his master's current narcotised state.

Whenever the Earl becomes stricken with an illness, Sebastian remembers the inherent intimacy of their contract. Since the death of his brother, no other person had the liberty of seeing Ciel in a weakened state like he was currently. It was the flavouring of being the only one to know intimately about the boy's body that made him ever the more restless to finally carve into him and consume him.

His hand trailed past his master’s chest and directly to the wound; Ciel hissed at the touch but did not speak, did not tell the demon to stop or that he was in pain. Be it from his own stubborn mind or his cognitive impairment, Ciel did not attempt to make the demon quit touching him.

Which was a rare and peculiar scene. His master, since the very first night they met, always expressed his distaste for being touched when it was unnecessary. Only to Lizzie did he let himself be touched without reason because she was a child the same as him, and her intentions were always pure and innocent. From that month in the cage, Sebastian knew that he too was seen as an untrustworthy individual in his eyes and that he was not allowed to touch him without proper reason.

His fingers traced the outline of the stitches; his head against Ciel’s shoulder so he could hear with ease the heartbeat that accelerated every time he pressed down harder on the wound. His lips found their way against the boy’s neck, grazing his sharpened teeth against his vein and struggling to hold back the urge to sink his teeth into his skin—to taste the meal he had waited a hundred lifetimes to consume.

He kissed his way up to Ciel’s jawline, grinning at his master’s movements of tilting his head for him to have better access before he ever had to ask. “My lord,” Sebastian whispered, kissing the jawbone, “Do you understand how much I wish to kill you right now?”

“You’ve...made-made it...quite clear,” Ciel said through struggling breathes—he was still too young to know if what he felt when the demon’s lips were against his was arousal or primal fear—, “But...you know our agreement.”

The Earl straightened himself, pushing Sebastian away from him as his composure returned and he continued, “You will have your fun when the contract ends. Now dry me off.”

His voice was adamant and his expression serious. For anyone who did not see through him, that could not hear his still racing heartbeat, they would think him to be calm and mature, but Sebastian knew better. He knew it was only an act to make himself seem larger towards the creature that was to devour him. It was an act he was willing to play along with.

“Of course, my apologies for my abrupt behaviour.” Sebastian said as he helped the young master out of the tub and into his nightshirt.

“Stay with me for the night,” Ciel ordered when they were back in his bedroom, “I’m still cold and your body produces more heat than mine,” a blush formed over his face at how it came out, “You don't have to stay the whole night, only until I am asleep.”

“Understood, my lord,” Sebastian said, laying himself down on the bed next to Ciel, “Would you like me to read you a story until you fall asleep?”

“Yes,” Ciel whispered, “Make it a happy story.” He hesitantly rested his head on Sebastian’s chest—unsurprised by the lack of a heartbeat—, his eyes immediately becoming heavy as the demon spoke soothing words of an alternative ending to the angel he had devoured’s life.

Within minutes, Ciel was asleep in Sebastian’s arms; a bird sleeping under the protection of a snake.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/lyilenor) and [tumblr](https://lyilenor.tumblr.com/)


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